


Reverence

by ParadoxicalParasol



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Drinking & Talking, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:50:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2700248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadoxicalParasol/pseuds/ParadoxicalParasol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair really just wants some time to himself at Skyhold, and it doesn't look like he is going to get it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reverence

**Author's Note:**

> Very minor spoilers, I tried to be as vague as possible with the game plot. Alistair POV/consciousness stream. Female warden did not make Alistair king nor allow the dark ritual. First story I've penned in about ten years, so awkwardness is ever present. Headcannon awaaaaaaay!

A place to sit and grab a drink was getting hard to come by at Skyhold tavern. It felt like there were more souls joining the Inquisition everyday with no clear end in sight. There wasn't a quiet spot left in the whole damned bastille. Well, maybe the often empty Inquisitor's quarters would soothe his ears. He sighed, refusing to let his mind go there or reminisce about the various cheeses that were being brought to his leader's tower. The woman had shared every whiskey and rum she had come across with her troops, but not a single block of cheese had come their way. Hoarder. 

The corner would have to do. The table seemed sturdy enough, with no tampering done by the elf upstairs. Sera's shenanigans both annoyed and amused him. Truth be told, he was much like her in his youth. There weren't many days that he let the brothers at the Chantry have it easy. Poor Brother Hemsley, the man itched for months after his ground madcap bulbs were replaced with rashvine nettles.

A slender woman caught his eye as he flagged down the waitress. With a nod, he was positive the greeting to her was enough. “ One sack mead, please,” he murmured in confusion as he saw the Inquisitor motion to sit opposite him. “Or two. Definitely two. For me, that is. Inquisitor?”

Lavellan requested one of the same with a tired smile. “I suppose we are not to exchange pleasantries?” she asked quizzically after a few moments had passed, eying his agape jaw. 

“Right, then! Hello. This really isn't what it looks like,” he insisted when two rather large flagons were laid out in front of him. “I have quite the constitution, no problem here at all.”

“Of course, the nervous prattling doesn't belie that one bit,” Levallen laughed as she took a sip of mead. “None the matter, you should know you don't have much choice in speaking with me.” If it weren't for the mischief in her eyes he would think that her new-found power was truly going to her head and would begin to ooze out of her sharply pointed ears. Her voice broke him from the mental imagery. “It feels a bit odd, you know? All of this happened so fast," she confessed as she gestured to their surroundings. "I am not my own anymore, so many people feel as if they know me when they hear of my travels. Considering your rant as we met, I think you might be one of the few that can understand.” 

He squirmed in his seat like an anxious child. Seems as if the Maker wasn't going to give him any mercy by allowing the ground to swallow him whole. A good smote for Brother Hemsley, maybe? Taking a deep breath, he mentally cursed the heavens. He wasn't sure if he would ever truly understand the minds of women, but he would do his best to be a gentleman, nonetheless. “Understand what, Lady Inquisitor?”

She stared into her drink, as if it would reveal her thoughts for her. When her mead failed to do just that, she began to speak softly. “I am afraid of the cost this mark will take upon me when all is said and done. I wonder if I will ever see my clan again, or if I will perish trying to save Thedas.”

He tried to curtail her, but she was speaking quicker now without room for a word to edge in. “What if I end up like the Warden, my sacrifices undone a mere ten years later and forgotten? Would she still have made the same choices knowing what the future had in store?” He was sure she thought she had stricken him across the face when their eyes met. “I'm sorry, I didn't ---”

“No,” he cut her off gently, “it's fine, or at least I think it's fine.” He looked at her now, allowing himself to take her in. There were many days where he would not dare gaze at her, she looked so much like Mahariel it pained him physically. He had worked so hard to put the Dalish warden in his past, locked away so far that his heart could not reach. He had quit the order and left his home after her death, only to return after a stint in the Free Marches and too much ale. If it had not been for Teagan, he was fairly sure he would have never returned to Ferelden at all. He was able to stitch his life back together thread by thread, and eventually became strong enough to rejoin the order. 'Lot of good that did,' he thought ruefully. Now here he was, sitting in front of what could be a phantom of his former lover in a be-all end-all war against a darkspawn. History was truly doomed to repeat itself or the Maker really did not like him. With his luck, it was probably both. 

Twiddling and twining his fingers together he glanced at her briefly before looking away. “We don't know what's going to happen, that's true. What we do know, is that without you we are truly lost. I felt that way about her, that if the taint had taken her then I would have not been able to kill the Archedemon,” he laughed, “I don't do well with things that swoop.” The crack in his voice betrayed his laughter, revealing a darkness that had been buried deep within. “Keep your friends close, they are who keep you strong and help you fight for the people. Know that if they never speak the name Lavellan again, it is not because you are forgotten. Your name will be on their lips for the rest of their lives, and your memory burned into their very being.”

She was no longer hiding behind her drink when he observed her again. “Thank you, Alistair,” grabbing his hand from across the table. “I hope I can call you friend before this is all over, as well.” She smiled, “Though, I will settle for you not looking as if you will turn into petrified stone the next time I sit with you.” 

“I think I'd like that,” he said whilst chewing his lip, “and nothing beats petrification better than cheese!” He spotted the Chargers' return before she did, and thankfully waved them down to take his side of the table. “I will leave you to your business, Lady Inquisitor.” 

After insisting that he call her by her name from that point forward, she let him leave. He would have to remember that there was a quiet place in Skyhold after all, as it appeared not many cared to stumble about in the garden after dark. As he approached a rose bush, he couldn't resist the temptation to pick one of the flowers before him. Its smell was heady, and brought forth such strong memories it took him aback. He swallowed hard as a name tingled on his lips. Thumbing the floret, he braced himself against a nearby wall. His own voice rang in his ears, telling him of beauty amidst the darkness. Peeling the thorns off of its stem, Alistair allowed himself to do something he hadn't done in years. 

Remember.


End file.
